


Hearts Will Be Glowing (When Loved Ones Are Near)

by also_bughead



Category: Archie Comics, Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Baby Names, Birthday, Childbirth, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, Domestic!Bughead, F/M, Fluff, Future Fic, baby bughead - Freeform, bughead - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 11:00:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13122354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/also_bughead/pseuds/also_bughead
Summary: Betty and Jughead's son's birthday just so happens to fall on Christmas.





	Hearts Will Be Glowing (When Loved Ones Are Near)

**Author's Note:**

> Just some good old future fluff. Happy Holidays, my loves.

Jughead pulled off his beanie as he leaned into the doorframe of the small living room, taking in the scene before him, lit only by the twinkling lights of their Christmas tree. His wife laying on the couch, asleep, hair fanned out about her on the throw pillow as their son slept against her chest, blond curls bouncing ever so slightly as her breath bobbed him up and down. 

He didn’t think his heart could feel so full. 

He set his keys down into the bowl on the small table by their door as quietly as he could, not wanting to disturb them. He then carefully tip toed over, hands gently grasping at the toddler’s sides, pulling him up onto his shoulder. 

He managed to do so successfully without waking him, but Betty rose with a small gasp before realizing it was only her husband. 

“Sorry,” she yawned. “Attie wanted to wait up for Santa and I got tired of arguing with him.”

“Yes, two year olds can put up quite the fight,” the raven-haired boy laughed. 

She glanced at the clock which read 12:05 AM.  “Three-year-old, now.” 

“Yeah. Three-year-old now,” he chuckled lightly. Their little Christmas miracle. 

-

They’d been trying for over a year when a doctor told them that they probably could never conceive. Something was wrong with Betty’s uterus that kept the eggs from ever implanting properly. 

She was devastated. All her life, the only thing Betty was sure of was her desire to be a mother. It took awhile for her to accept it; she insisted they keep trying, going through fertility treatments for an additional three months, each month being devastated when her period came, because if she was bleeding, then she wasn’t pregnant. 

Finally, she decided to move on. They stopped actively trying, and she was content just being with Jughead. 

Three weeks later, she found out she was expecting with a due date in late December. 

Initially, she wasn’t too keen on the idea of her baby being born so close to Christmas. “He can’t share a birthday with a deity, Jughead! How is he supposed to compete with that?!”

She held this sentiment right to the very end. When contractions started in the late afternoon of Christmas Eve while she baked cookies with her mother, she insisted she’d just cross her legs and keep him in there till the 26th. 

She sang a different tune, however, just a few hours later as she sat in the passenger seat of their car, clutching onto Jughead’s sherpa, hurling expletives at him, blaming him for her pain. When they arrived at the maternity ward of Riverdale’s memorial hospital she asked, or rather screamed, for an epidural, but her labor had progressed too far. She was nine centimeters dilated, and it was time to start pushing. 

She pushed for thirty minutes, and then, just after midnight on Christmas day, there he was. He was bloody and screaming and beautiful. And he was theirs. Jughead could feel tears pricking at the corners of his eyes and they sprang freely from Betty’s as they laid the tiny newborn on her chest, and Betty pulled the crinkly hospital gown off one shoulder and he almost immediately latched on and began to nurse. 

Originally, when they found out they were having a boy, Betty wanted to make him a Fourth, but Jughead refused to subject his child to the same ridiculous name he grew up with. But Elizabeth Jones was not going to be the reason the Forsythe name was abandoned by the Jones family. 

They finally settled on the name of one of their mutual favorite characters, Atticus Finch, and Forsythe as the middle name.

“Hello, Atticus Forsythe Jones,” she whispered, fingers stroking through the wispy hairs at the crown of his head as he ate. “Welcome to your life, baby boy.”

Jughead swore he’d never seen her look so beautiful in all his life; her forehead shone with sweat with the work it took to bring their son into the world, the way she smiled at him as he ate from her, her very being nourishing and sustaining him and holy shit, Jughead never felt so in love with her.

He pressed his lips to her temple and she giggled, both from lack of sleep and giddiness. The vibration distracted the newborn and he stirred, pulling away from his mother’s breast, blue eyes studying his father carefully. 

“Do you want to hold him?” Betty asked. 

Jughead nodded and she shifted, sitting up a bit so she Jughead could lift him from her arms into his more easily. He stood stiffly, careful not to move an inch out of fear he’d hurt the tiny being in his arms. 

“You won’t break him, Juggie,” Betty assured him, letting out a light laugh. “He’s strong. Had to be to manage to fight his way here. Odds weren’t exactly in his favor.”

“We made him,” Jughead whispered as he counted all five of the fingers that had wrapped around his thumb. “How’s that possible? That me and you could make a whole person?”

“I don’t know,” she smiled. “It’s amazing.”

He sat down carefully beside her on the edge of her bed. “Thank-you, Betty.”

“For what?”

“You grew him. Puked your guts out for him. Carried him around inside you for nine months. Pushed him out of you. I can’t believe you did that.” He turned to her in wonder

“I didn’t think I could,” she admitted with a laugh. 

“But you did,” he murmured. “I love you, Betty. I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to his cheek before resting her head against his shoulder, admiring their son. “He so perfect.” She hated the word, but it was the only way she could think to describe the little miracle who was falling asleep in her husband’s arms.

“Yeah. Absolutely perfect.”

-

“I’m gonna go lay him down,” Jughead whispered so he wouldn’t wake his son. 

“Okay, yeah you do that,” she stood, pulling her hair into a loose ponytail at the nape of her neck. “I’m gonna put on a pot of coffee.”

“Coffee? It’s past midnight Bets.” 

“Yep, and it’s Christmas Eve and we have stockings to fill and I still gotta make that tollhouse pie for the get together at mom’s,” she shooed him up the steps. “Go, go. We gotta get to work.”

He couldn’t help but laugh at her determination and work ethic as she hurried him to put their son to bed. 

He obeyed, of course (he learned the importance of the phrase “yes dear” early in their marriage) and took their son to his room. It was small and decorated with paraphernalia from his current obsession, Toy Story. 

He laid him down gently in his toddler bed, pulling up the Buzz Lightyear duvet around his shoulders, tucking him in. He kissed his forehead and flicked on the nightlight.

“Sweet dreams, birthday boy.”

When he got back into their sitting room, Betty was already busying herself placing gifts under the tree and Jughead made his way to the kitchen where the coffee had just finished brewing. He filled two mugs, leaving one black for himself and pouring plain almond milk into the other for Betty. He came back to see her finishing up, and he handed the mug to her. 

“Thank-you,” she murmured, sipping from the mug. 

They continued to work late into the night, stuffing stockings and baking until they collapsed together on the couch, Betty propping her feet up in Jughead’s lap. Jughead was telling her about his late night at work, just getting to the part about the new intern spilling hot tea on the boss when he noticed she was asleep, a small trail of drool rolling down the corner of her mouth and onto the couch. He chuckled lightly, lifting her up into his arms as he carried her bridal style into their bedroom.

She groaned sleepily, the movement pulling her from her dreams.  “We’re just going to bed, mama tiger,” the raven-haired man joked, laying her down on the bed before climbing in beside her. 

“Merry Christmas,” she mumbled sleepily, snuggling into his chest, and Jughead felt complete, woman he loved in his arms and their son sleeping just next door. 

“Merry Christmas,” he whispered, stroking along the small of her back. “I love you.” He waited for a response but was only met with her soft snoring. Lucky for him, he didn’t need one, and he was lulled to sleep in the safe security that Betty Cooper-turned-Jones loved him just as much as he loved her. Maybe even a little more.

Nah. That wasn’t possible.


End file.
